I wasn't always crazy, right?
A question I tend to ask myself on a daily basis. Ever since I was little, there was something off about me, but who would think later on I could be capable of killing someone.
***
When I was three, my parents decided to take me on stroll to get some froyo. Even at that age, I knew my father was infuriating. I don’t know how I remember, but I would remember seeing my mom crying when she held me. As I would look into her beautiful brown eyes, all I could see was despair. She would have cuts and sometimes bruises on her face and arms, but she always had a smile.
As we were eating froyo, me being the child that I was, I started to play around with my food. My mom started laughing and got a napkin to clean my hands, but my dad just stared at me coldly. After we finished our froyo, we headed back home. I remember dozing off in my car seat. Next thing I know, my father had taken me to my room and started to hit me. I remember him screaming at me, telling me that I had embarrassed him, that I should have never been born, that I was a curse to his family name. But, hey, what can a three-year-old do in that moment? I did what any normal child would do. I cried, I screamed, I called for my mom, but she was nowhere to be found.
After my father finished beating me to a pulp, my mom finally came in and the fright in her eyes only made the pain worse. She took me to the hospital and made up some lame excuse to cover up the fact that my dad was an abuser. I was in intensive care for quite some time, but as I spent time in the hospital, I met a friend. A friend that would eventually end up screwing me over in the long run.
***
As I was in the hospital, slowly getting back to my normal state, I spent a lot of time in the playroom. I would play with building blocks in front of the mirror they had. Just so I could see how awesome my building skills were, but one day something was different. As I was playing, there was someone in the mirror. I looked around to see if it was any of the other kids that would come in the playroom, but that day I was by myself. Then he spoke.
“Wassup kid?”
My vocabulary was still very limited since I was only three, so I just waved.
“My name is Trevor and me and you are gonna be best friends.”
I honestly had no clue at the time of what he was talking about. So, as the days proceeded, I finally go back to my terrible home and Trevor continued to talk to me. He would only appear anytime I crossed a mirror, and I had only one mirror in my room planted on the door. My mom thought it was cute, me having an imaginary friend.
As the years went by, everything seemed fine. Meaning no one was in the hospital for a while. Then came my fifth birthday. I was getting ready to start the fourth grade and Trevor still made his appearances. One time, he tried to trick me into going into the girl’s bathroom. Another time, he tried to make me steal my mom’s credit card so he could buy something. The worst part about it, is that I could hear him in my head now and I didn’t just have to look in a mirror to have a conversation with him. My mom was starting to get a little skeptical about my situation. Which would make sense. How would you feel if your son was talking to an imaginary friend for two years? I don’t know, it does seem kid like, but how often do you see that happen?
What really caught my mom’s attention was when I was seven. I was getting ready to go to sleep then I saw Trevor in my mirror.
“My guy! Glad to see ya buddy. Why don’t we have some fun?”
“No Trevor, your fun is always bad.”
“Hey hey hey, come on. Give me a break. Pleaseeee. Going to school is boring enough already, and you never do anything fun.”
“I said no Trevor. Goodnight.”
“Fine, guess I’ll just have fun by myself.”
I should’ve paid more attention to that last part. See Trevor seemed to learn knew things as time went by. Before, I was only able to see him in mirrors. Then, I was able to hear in my head all the time. And tonight, well let’s just say, he figured out how to take a physical form.
When I woke up, I went to the kitchen to fix me some cereal. I saw my mom staring at me the whole time, and she looked pretty upset. I didn’t know why, so I continued to make my breakfast.
“Kerion DeShawn Barkley. Come here. Right. Now.”
Whenever your parent mentions your full name, you know you’re in deep trouble. So, when my mom called my me, I started to think of every possible thing I could’ve done wrong as I was making my way to her.
Did I forget to say goodnight to her yesterday? Did my teacher say something bad about me? Did she find out that I ate the last cookie? Oh no, did she find out that I forgot to do my homework???
However, when I made my way over to her, all she did was point to her room. As I walked into the room, all I could see was a nightmare. The room was tore up with the sheets ripped to shreds, the lights broke, the dressers broken apart with clothes everywhere, and that’s just the first of it. Then there’s the bathroom. The floor was completely soaked, as if it was flooded with water, my mom’s makeup was everywhere, and her mirror was broken. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, but I was somewhat relieved because I could easily tell her that it wasn’t me who did this.
I wouldn’t say that, pal.
“What are you talking about?”, I asked Trevor.
“Young man, I am talking about how you completely destroyed my room. Explain yourself this instant!”, said my mom.
I couldn’t tell my mom that it wasn’t me and this was all Trevor’s doing. But, I didn’t do this and I didn’t want to take responsibility for something Trevor did.
“But mom, I didn’t do this!”
“Then who did?”
I guess I took too long to answer because she already sent me to my room. I had to clean up the whole house for two whole weeks. Not to mention, I had to start going door to door, selling my moms homemade cookies to make up for the damage that Trevor caused. I knew it wasn’t fair, but what else was I supposed to do.
****
It was finally my eighth birthday. The past seven years had definitely taken a toll on me, but my eighth birthday was only the beginning to a lifetime of struggle.
For my eighth birthday party, we invited over some of the classmates, and my mom made this huge cake along with homemade ice cream. She got us a bouncy house and my friends and I played outside until it was time to blowout the candles. My dad was at work, but I knew deep down he just didn’t want to come. After my friends and I got tired of playing outside, we came inside the house. My mom had lit the candles on the cake and it was time for me to make my wish. Then everything went black.
“I wish all of you were gone. I wish that only I can be here. I wish that you were all gone. I wish that—” , said Trevor.
“Kerion! What has gotten into you! Go to your room right now. Kids help yourself to some cake.”
I sat in my room confused. The only thing I could remember was getting ready to make a wish and blow out the candles. What could I have done to upset her now?
Well, you can leave it to me. I’ll handle the situation.
“No! I mean, no. Trevor, you only know how to make things worse.”
That’s the whole point! We need to get out of this dump and be on our own.
“Im only eight! I don’t know how to be alone.”
That’s why you got me, but don’t worry kid. You’re in good hands.
And just like that I blacked out again, but this time I could hear part of the conversation. It was a weird sensation, going in and out of consciousness. It was felt like I was going to throw up, then something hit me. Literally, something slapped me across the face.
“That’s it! I have had enough of this behavior. It has gone on too long! Come on, lets go to the car.”, said my mom.
